


Naughty & Nice: Checking off the Kink List

by Tentaculiferous



Series: Checking it Twice [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: ATTENTION, Abusive Relationships, Anger Management, Aphrodisiacs, Bad Boys, Carrying, Crimes & Criminals, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, Kissing, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Other, Self-cest, Size Difference, Surgery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentaculiferous/pseuds/Tentaculiferous
Summary: In which I try writing something for every kink, trope, or cliche on Eliade's list. Pairing, canon, rating, and fic length vary. Some are gen, some are pure smut. Pairing, canon, kink/trope and rating will be listed in the chapter title. Ex: "Cyclonus/Tailgate, IDW, G: Big Guy Little Guy".





	1. Cyclonus/Tailgate, IDW, G: Big Guy Little Guy

Tailgate was intensely happy with his Big Guy. He really, really was. Who could be a better conjux than Cyclonus? He wouldn't trade him for all of Cybertron!

But...he might trade his shoulders. Cyclonus's shoulders were nice shoulders. They were purple and sturdy, and before today, he had no complaints about them. They were nice to hold onto when he gave Cyclonus a smooch (which, since he didn't have a mouthplate, consisted of pressing his faceplate up in a nuzzling action against Cyclonus's mouth, and making little kissing noises. The look on Cyclonus's face after a kiss was just adorable.) 

Earlier, he had noticed Rewind perched on Chromedome's shoulders as they entered Swerve's. It was a scene he'd witnessed countless times before, but it had never really sunk in. The minibot-standard-mech size difference meant more than just a little inconvenience (or a lot of fun) in the berth. It also meant one mech in the partnership would be totally, imminently, carriable. 

A lightbulb had practically went up over his head, and he turned his most desperate, imploring look up at Cyclonus, his big blue optics shining beseechingly.

"No." Cyclonus had said, as if that were that.

"Why not?" Tailgate asked.

"You would fall off." 

"But you're the same size!" 

"Chromedome has significantly broader shoulders." 

Tailgate had looked back and forth between the two mechs, and then sighed in defeat. He had to admit, reluctantly, that Cyclonus might be right. His shoulders weren't as wide. 

"What if I put one leg over each shoulder and held on to your horns?" he suggested.

"Not on your life." Cyclonus said, turning away from Tailgate and back to watching Ultra Magnus lecturing Swerve over some code violation. 

"Hmph." Tailgate pouted out of obligation, but secretly, he was sure he could get Cyclonus to do it in the privacy of their quarters. Once he'd accomplished that, it would be a snap to get Cyclonus to carry him about that way, he was sure of it.


	2. Bumblebee/Cliffjumper, G1, G: Abuse/Abusive Relationships

"I'm not going to draw a picture." Cliffjumper said, scoffing. 

"Why not?" the therapist asked, his voice unnaturally cheerful (in Cliffjumper's opinion). 

"Cause it's fraggin' stupid, that's why." he said.

In the chair next to him, Bumblebee shuttered his optics and pinched his nose. 

"Could you just – could you just draw the picture Cliffjumper?" Bumblebee asked, his voice weary with the weight of years of being Cliffjumper's on-again-off-again partner. 

"The picture is just a tool," the therapist explained, "to let you share your emotions. Sometimes it can be hard to _say_ what we feel, so it's easier to write it down or draw it out as an image. We could try writing if you would like that better." 

"I think I'm pretty slagging good at sharing my emotions doc – I don't need a tool. Is anyone here confused about how I feel? Huh? 'Cause I am pissed!" Cliffjumper snapped. 

The therapist scribbled madly with their stylus. 

"This was a mistake." Bumblebee said. 

"Damn right it was – we don't need any stinking therapist mucking about in our business. Come on Bumblebee, let's go." Cliffjumper said, in his usual slightly-too-loud manner. He kicked the chair with his pede and stormed out of the room without looking back to see if Bumblebee would follow. 

Bumblebee walked over to the door. 

"Sorry Dr. Ring–we'll see you again next week–maybe?" Bumblebee said, a warm smile on his face once more. 

Rung sighed. He wasn't sure which of his patients was more maladjusted--the perpetually angry minibot or his goodnatured, ever-cheerful counterpart.


	3. Ratchet/SG!Ratchet, Shattered Glass, PG-13: Alternate Universe

He could handle the weird, mismatched colors (purple Autobot badges?), the wide berth mechs gave him (his unfriendly manner had always scared a few of the weaker-sparked mecha), and the wrong terminology (Embers? A spark was nothing like an ember!). 

It was the sight of his own face, denta bared in a manically cheerful grin as he lowered a sonic jackhammer towards the open brain module of the terrified, fully awake minibot that was strapped to the berth, that made him lose his cool. 

Before he could even fully process what he was seeing, a heavy wrench, worn but lovingly polished and cared for, was flying through the air and careening toward the mad medic’s head. This other Ratchet had just enough time to look up and open his mouth in greeting before it slammed into the center of his helm, sending him staggering backward. Ratchet had a mean throw, as any of his own tenderly cared for patients could attest. Still, he’d never do brain surgery without a pain blocker!

Before this twisted version of himself could recover, Ratchet was on him, seizing his odd green chevron in one powerful red medic’s hand, and shaking the mech with all his might as his voice ranted on in the mech’s audios. Ratchet paid little attention to the invectives spilling forth from his glossa, so stunned was he by the sight of not just some sort of clone or twin of himself, but of one doing such stupid and medically inadvisable things. 

“Don’t worry, my (very attractive) friend, there’s more than enough brain modules to go around!” the bizarro twin of him shouted jovially. “We have three more cerebral scans scheduled before the orn is up. You can do any experiments you wish. You can even borrow my sonic jackhammer.” the mech offered, as if jealousy over an instrument of torture was Ratchet’s real issue.

Ratchet just gaped, stunned momentarily speechless for one of the few times of his long life. The strange bizarro Ratchet just grinned at him. Then he kissed him. 

The harsh clang of metal on metal sounded throughout the medbay as Ratchet slammed the nearest sizeable object, a heavy steel berthpan, onto the other Ratchet’s helm. The other Ratchet just grinned dazedly and leaned in for another go.

Still strapped down to the repair berth, Huffer could only pray the two battling, kissing medics would accidentally offline him in their struggle for control. Bad enough to fall under one Ratchet’s cruel care, no mech on Cybertron deserved two of them! This new one seemed to be as mad as the old one.


	4. Prowl/Megatron, IDW, PG-13: Bad Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Megatron's arrest during Megatron: Origin.

There was no doubt that this Megatron was one bad mech. The shoulders under Prowl’s hands, not denting in the slightest under his tight, squeezing grip, told of a strong, densely woven metal plating the mech, lending protection and serving as a heavy burden all the same. Prowl had no doubt that his hands were equally heavy and strong, able to crush and compact smaller, finer-plated bots’ bodies with their fierce blows.

Bots like Prowl. His frame might have some extra protection built into it, to protect against the blaster fire of robbers and the swinging fists of angry drunks, but it had nothing on that which the gladiators wore. It wasn’t meant to stand up to hours of brutal physical pounding. 

Just the thought of what the criminal currently in stasis-cuffs in front of him could do to him, if he got loose, sent a tingle down Prowl’s spinal strut. He dutifully ignored it. No amount of shanix on Cybertron could get him to touch such a filthy piece of criminal scum, no matter what the circumstances...no matter how hot the thought made his plating burn, or his valve seemed to throb at the images in his processor…

The criminal scum—Megatron—was escorted to a cell, and Prowl smirked at the sight. That defeated, downcast look was perfect—he saved the visual capture to permanent memory storage. It would be perfect to devour when it was time for some after-work “relaxation” tonight, and would probably be effective material for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl plans to spank it to Megatron’s picture, pretty much.


	5. Firestar/Nautica, IDW, PG: Bad Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I cheated and filled this prompt twice :D

That Nautica was so bad. She really was a naughty, naughty girl. The most famous dance troupe on Caminus had deigned to put on a show at the university for the time _ever_ and Nautica didn’t even care. Everyone else in the audience had rapt optics turned to the dancers, seeing the beautiful lines of motion playing across the stage, but Nautica? She had her damned nose glued to a datapad! And if that wasn’t bad enough, the symbols scrawling across the screen looked like complex math equations—she was doing _homework_ instead of watching the show!

No culture, no care for the arts, for the expressions and reflections of life that spoke to the spark—she couldn’t even pretend to have a cursory interest in them. She didn’t have the _decency_ to do so.

Firestar seethed, pulled away from the entrancing performance to glare at her completely _rude_ roommate instead. The fact that she couldn’t focus on the show herself because of Nautica’s actions only fed the flames of rage within her. Nautica was ruining the show for her! After she’d agreed to their pleading to come! Denta gritting, she wished Nautica could get a taste of her own medicine, but her purple-plated roommate never seemed to care if anyone shared her scientific interests with her. Still, Nautica deserved some kind of punishment. Firestar’s face smoothed out into gentle smirk as her mind came up with a creative, if slightly cliché, solution. Her hands twitched in anticipation...

She knew just what to do with naughty mechs...


	6. Swerve/Ultra Magnus, IDW, PG13: Barebacking

Letting an alien into your systems without any protection was stupid. Especially when you didn’t even know what species they were or even their name. It was exactly the sort of careless thing he’d expect Rodimus to do, or perhaps Tailgate, out of honest naive ignorance.

That’s why Ultra Magnus was so surprised to be staring sternly over the top of an Incident Report at the bot he was, one who was neither the most responsible and trustworthy on board, but neither was he the most foolish—or so Ultra Magnus had thought. 

“I am very disappointed in you, Swerve.”

The minibot twirled his thumbs, casting a pained grin up at Ultra Magnus.

“It was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down?” Swerve tried.

His casual, joking manner was at odds with the deeply knitted brow plates, the strained, dimmed light cast by his optics. Despite his manner, Ultra Magnus could tell that he had learned his lesson. Having one’s valve half-melted off by techno-organic acidic sexual fluids and his mind riddled with an embarrassing, confusing virus, would adequately punish any mech. 

“Please turn it down in the future.” Ultra Magnus said, his tone grim but less forbidding than he would have made it for an unrepentant lawbreaker like Rodimus. “There are plenty of mechs on the Lost Light you could, er, go to for companionship, if you felt the need.”

“Like who?” Swerve asked, honestly puzzled by the idea. He couldn’t think of a single mech on board that would give him the time of day, let alone spread their legs for him.

Ultra Magnus’s faceplates pinkened and he suddenly became very interested in the datapad in his hands. His optics unfortunately landed on a scathing description from Ratchet of the damages done to Swerve’s valve, and he cast his optics about for something else to look at, anywhere but at the gaping minibot in front of him. 

“Wait...no way...” Swerve was saying. 

“That will be all Swerve. Dismissed.” Ultra Magnus said.

“You!” Swerve said, a real grin lighting up his faceplates. “You would let me come to _you_ ‘for companionship.’” he made air quotes with his stubby fingers to accompany his words.

“I said ‘Dismissed’!” Ultra Magnus barked. It was hard to imbue the words with his usual stern authority when he couldn’t look the mech in the optics. He thanked Primus when Swerve actually rose from his chair and began walking toward the door.

He was safe, conversation over. Swerve paused in the doorway. Or not.

“Don’t worry, Mags, I know you’re a gentlemech. Not just a roll in the helio-hay. I’ll take you someplace nice—there’s this great place on Nantak Ro that would be perfect--”

Ultra Magnus groaned and hit the manual override button for the door, forcing it to lower down despite the presence of a mech under its scanners. As the door lowered down on him Swerve sunk down to his knees, trying in vain to forcibly hold the door up. He was finally forced to back out of the entry. 

Finally. Peace. Quiet. Two dearly beloved things he knew the mech he’d developed such an illogical crush on was completely incapable of. 

“I’ll comm you!~” Swerve yelled, his voice muffled by the thick metal of the door, but still sadly reaching Ultra Magnus’s audios.

Likewise, from the other side, Swerve could hear the mysterious thunk that was Ultra Magnus’s head slamming into his desk with as much force as he could muster.

“What was that…?” Swerve asked, but then shook his helm. It didn’t matter. He had to tell everyone his great news! He couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faceplates when they heard he had a date with Ultra Magnus! With a grin on his faceplates so enormous that it almost reached his optics, he headed off to tell _everyone_.


	7. Prowl/Tarantulas, IDW, E, Bestiality

His processor was sluggish, barely able to concentrate on anything other than the stinging sensation of the long, needle-like fangs digging into his neck, and the harsh, pleasurable burn of a far too large spike thrusting roughly into his valve. 

As he squirmed and wiggled, half trying to escape from his old lover, half trying to get more of the sensations coursing through him, odd, disjointed thoughts would float through his mind. Was this bestiality? Tarantulas was fully sentient, he was sure, but his body was so beast-like...

Not that he could throw stones. His own straining spike had a knot swollen at its base, and unlike Tarantulas, he had onlined with his. It was not a later modification, nor was it a choice of those who'd constructed him. Although alterations could be made to one's reproductive organs, Cybertronians usually had genitalia unique to themselves, influenced by spark while being restrained by frame limitations. This had not been an issue when mechs had been solely forged--the spark of a beastmode mech would form a beastmode body, and so the shape and size of the spike and valve formed would match the body well. 

Not so with Constructed Cold mechs. If you put the spark of a shuttle mech in a cassette body, it couldn't have a shuttle-sized spike--although it would be unusually large for a cassette, hitting the max size that that frame could support. Sadly, the same was not true for the reverse situation--putting a cassette in a shuttle body tended to form an undersized spike.

Prowl's own spike and valve were, thankfully, appropriately sized for his frame. But that knot...it meant he'd been meant to be a beast mode mech, probably lacking a bipedal form at all. That was a shameful fact that Prowl preferred to keep hidden, and so he'd had very few lovers over his long lifespan. When he was younger, he'd thanked Primus every day that he'd been Constructed Cold and saved from the fate of forging into a mecha-animal. It would have made him garbage in society's eyes, worthless, bestial, animal and lesser. 

That was not him. But still. A small, insidious voice in his processor wondered if the throbbing, unbearably delicious heat in his valve, the slick wetness sliding down his thighs as his hairy partner fucked him from behind, wasn't caused by the fact that he was really an animal, so of course he'd love being fucked by one...

It was a small mercy when that line of thought was floated away by the aphrodisiac venom coursing through his lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wonder what alt modes our beloved CC bots would have forged into, had they had the chance. And did some of them luck out, being placed in higher rank bodies where they would have been forged as oppressed laser pointers or cybercats?
> 
> I also like the idea of genitalia *not* being something that can easily be changed. Sure, mods and genitalia personal choices are fun to explore too, but then you miss out on characters having the weird insecurities and hangups people have about their bodies :P 
> 
> I hope no one feels like I cheated out on this prompt though, since it didn't involve any actual animals.


	8. Cosmos/Prowl, G, Attention

Cosmos. A fat little bot that spent most of his time in space. On those times when he managed to (briefly) enjoy some time planetside, his own desperate, seething need for company all too often drove those away who would otherwise have given him what he craved. A laugh, a listening audio, a smile, a quick patter of casual conversation.

Didn’t they understand he was trying to cram months of social interaction into the span of a few days? That it sometimes had to last him years out in the cold loneliness of space, with nothing to rely on but a few necessarily short official transmissions?

Prowl understood. And that’s why, when the spacefaring bot finally got some time on Earth, Prowl kept his optic on him. Whenever he seemed to be lacking the attention he desired, Prowl put himself forward to provide. Long, quiet drives through the wilderness, half-listening to the other bot’s chatter while he ran statistics and formulated schedules with the other part of his processor. Letting the other bot know he could swing by his office any time to chat.

It was uncharacteristic of Prowl—but only if you weren’t practiced enough to see the benefits of such actions to him. 

A lonely bot, aching for someone to fill the empty void in him...a void easy to fill, even by a taciturn and socially awkward mech like Prowl. A ripe opportunity to collect such a rare and valuable resource for his own purposes. He needed to have the mech a little more loyal to him than he was to Prime or the Autobot Cause...and if a little attention was the price to pay, then Prowl considered it cheap.

He laughed stiltedly at the odd, technical joke the round bot made, understanding it but not what was funny about it. It didn’t matter. There was very little he found funny. He doubted he had let a genuine laugh fall from his glossa since the war had begun in earnest. 

Encouraged, Cosmos began to tell another.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love, feedback is life-if you have time, please comment and share your thoughts ^_^


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